Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [97]
“You’re nothing but trouble, Duane Chapman!” Beth said.
When we finally went to court over the arrest, Beth’s charges were dropped to a “dog at large” offense. No joke. It amounted to walking a dog without a leash. I don’t know if the district attorney was trying to be funny or was just sending me a message. Either way, all I could do was laugh. My punishment was to help the Adams County Sheriff’s Department track down some of their fugitives for thirty days. I had the best time showing them how to bring in these guys. I taught them that they can lie if they have to in order to bring someone in. I showed the department some of my trade secrets, and over the course of the month we brought in two dozen fugitives.
I know there’s a world of people who are confused, hurting, and need the help and guidance of a guy like me. Every time I sit next to a captured jump in the back of my Suburban, I understand that I have a captive audience of one. If I can reach that guy or girl in the few minutes we spend together on their way to jail, all of the stress, effort, and energy expended in finding them becomes worth it and far more valuable than the price of their bond.
I arrested a guy a few months back who was disappointed to find out the police were going to escort him to jail instead of me.
“Dog, why don’t I get my ride?” he asked.
I was taken aback because I remembered something Tim Storey said to me while I was fighting for my freedom and feeling pretty low about myself. There were a few times I wanted to throw in the towel back then and just pack it in. After he’d used his best preacher techniques to get me to see that helping people was my true calling in life, I still wasn’t convinced I had what it took to be a leader and role model.
And then Tim looked me in the eyes and said, “Who is going to give them the ride, Duane? Who will give them the cigarette and who will give them ‘the talk’?” When the preacher posed those questions to me, I realized he was right. If not me, then who? Whether I realized it or not, I was leading a backseat ministry, one ride at a time.
I looked at my fugitive for a minute without saying a word. I wanted to be certain of his intentions. Was he trying to split? Was he avoiding the inevitable, or was he genuinely interested in what this old Dog had to say? I ran my hand across my chin and said, “You want to ride with me?”
Handcuffed and shackled, the guy looked up and said, “I’ve been waiting two weeks for that, Dog.”
A ride with the Dog was all he wanted.
“Load him up,” I said. “You’ve got your ride, son.”
I lit a cigarette and placed it in his mouth so he could grab a smoke before we took him in. We talked nonstop all the way to the county jail. He shook his head as I spoke about getting off drugs and manning up for his wife and baby. I told him he had to quit making stupid choices so he could start living as the smart man I could spot inside of him. This guy wasn’t a stupid fool. He was just making stupid foolish choices. As we spoke, I didn’t judge him or instill any false hope in him for his future. I assured him he’d be cooked if he didn’t stop the crap and get himself together—now. Not tomorrow, or the next day, but right now.
“I’ve been there, boy. I know what you’re going through. It’s a lame excuse to say you ‘can’t’ do something when you have your health and a family that loves you no matter what. It’s lazy behavior, for sure, but you’re not handicapped by anything other than yourself. This is your wake-up call. You either answer it now or pay for it later and for the rest of your life. You’re being given another shot at things, but only if you take the risk to make the right decision. The choice is yours. What’s it going to be, brotha?”
As we approached the jailhouse, I could tell he was scared and feeling sick from coming down off the drugs. “Remember this feeling, son. Hold on to it so you never find yourself here again,” I said.
As